


it kinda hurts (for what it's worth)

by trashyeggroll



Series: can you remind me of my gravity? [2]
Category: Charlie's Angels (2019)
Genre: F/F, Femslash, Idiots in Love, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, canon adjacent, why did i plan on so much plot oh no
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-01-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:15:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22343926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashyeggroll/pseuds/trashyeggroll
Summary: Elena, Sabina, and Jane are chosen for a high-priority mission to protect a business magnate from his family's in-fighting, but a secret between the three agents threatens to derail their plans.
Relationships: Jane Kano/Sabina Wilson
Series: can you remind me of my gravity? [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1608400
Comments: 16
Kudos: 103





	it kinda hurts (for what it's worth)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for clicking! You don't need to read the first part of this series to read this multi-chapter, but that installment is pretty short and emotion-focused as background to this piece.

After two years with the Townsend Agency, Elena Houghlin was finally feeling as though she’d settled into her own as an Angel. Her most obvious skill was, of course, hacking. She’d been sent on plenty of missions specifically to use that expertise, usually away from the action in a van or locked in a control room: erasing Angels’ faces from security and police footage, creating camera redundancies for clandestine infiltrations, disarming high tech vaults, and even once helping a fellow agent escape capture in a high speed chase by controlling city traffic lights, _Italian Job_ -style. Except, in Chicago.

But beyond that, Elena’s combat and firearm skills had grown leaps and bounds since the fateful day she met Edgar and Jane in the café. She could take out a target three hundred feet away with a handgun if she focused, and by now, the programmer had plenty of experience taking down armed men who were two, three times her weight. She’d felt the pain of a bullet wound from one especially hairy exfil, and she’d experienced the primal adrenaline rush of fighting for her life, literally. Elena Houghlin was a fully-fledged Angel now, even if she still occasionally got flack about throwing up on that first romp.

 _Too much_ confidence could be a risk factor, however, and Elena tried to challenge herself to fight ennui. For example: She hacked the U.S. Department of Homeland Security after two months’ work, and after anonymously forwarding some tidbits to ProPublica, went after Tesla. Some missions did still test her, of course, but it’d been a long time since anything had gone nearly as wrong as John Bosley’s betrayal. _Knock on wood._

All of that was to say… Elena Houghlin felt that her instincts were finely tuned. She just couldn’t figure out why her instincts were shouting vaguely at her about _something_ regarding her best friends, Sabina Wilson and Jane Kano. Helpfully, her mind provided no name or concept for the _feeling,_ but it continued growing nonetheless, undefined and simmering. It was like wandering through a blacked out room, searching for something solid, whether a wall or a door, to orient herself.

Like today, as she sat with the aforementioned friends, tucked in a booth at one of their favorite dumpling restaurants in Prague. They had the weekend off, and the quick vacation gave Elena a lowkey opportunity to suss out what her Spidey senses were trying to say.

For their part, Sabina and Jane seemed completely at ease, like usual when the three of them were together (and not on a life-or-death mission). They joked, they complained, they roasted each other, and they ate entirely too many dumplings over entirely too many pints of local pilsners. It was a restorative evening, and Elena managed to file away her nameless concerns as the alcohol and savory potatoes smoothed the ragged edges of the world. Whatever nonsense her subconscious seemed to think, Elena had no reason to do anything other than enjoy herself that evening.

Eventually, though, the Urquells caught up with her, and Elena excused herself to the restroom. As she was walking back into the dining area, a waiter bumped her shoulder, knocking her phone from her hand. They exchanged quick apologies as she bent to quickly retrieve the device. Her fingers skidded against the brushed metal, knocking it farther away, and she had to awkwardly crouch-step forward to grab it.

When she finally stood, sighing, Elena caught sight of Sabina turning her head towards Jane. Something about the movement struck Elena as being the tail end of a telescoping check of surroundings, but Sabina’s sharp gray eyes had already passed before she stood.

That _must_ have been what happened, because suddenly Elena was watching Sabina lean close to Jane with a lazy smirk, her arm shifting as her hand presumably moved under the table. And then Jane’s neutral expression shifted to a sort of annoyed affection, not unusual when Sabina was around… except, this time Jane leaned in, lips hovering next to the blonde’s ear, and whispered something that made Sabina’s expression flicker with surprise. Then they both laughed, and Jane leaned away again.

 _Oh no._ Elena shuffled backwards, intending to cover her tracks by hiding in the bathroom for a few extra seconds, but she was so flustered by the assumptions her brain was making that she knocked straight into another waiter. He dropped a tray of dumplings with a loud clatter and an angry groan, and then everyone in the restaurant, including Sabina and Jane, was looking at her.

By the time she helped clean up and got back to the table, Sabina and Jane had paid the bill. If they were worried that Elena had seen their inscrutable exchange, they gave no hints, and that helped the newest agent start to rationalize that perhaps all she’d seen was a moment between best friends. That was still possible. Gal pals.

They said their goodnights outside the restaurant, exchanging hugs.

“I’m at the Pod Věží,” said Jane, hands in the pockets of her long gray peacoat. “Brunch tomorrow?”

“Yeah. Text me,” offered Elena. “I’m a couple blocks away, AirBnB.” Sabina narrowed her eyes at that, and the other agent quickly cut her off, “I checked out the owner and scanned for cameras. It’s fine. Nice little apartment to myself.”

“Send me the address,” Sabina huffed, arms crossing.

“Where are you?”

The blonde’s dubious expression faded to a sheepish one, and Elena knew the answer before hearing it: “My family has a few houses here.”

Curiously (or perhaps not), Sabina Wilson’s family money came from defense contracts and military technology patents and manufacturing. Elena suspected that that was the reason Charlie knew about Sabina when she’d been institutionalized, or at least how she caught Charlie’s eye in the first place. Nobody ever talked about it, though, and for all intents and purposes, Elena had never heard much about the company, innocuously named Ferndust Industries; despite the inherent violence of their work, they at least didn’t seem to be actively (or openly) committing war crimes or fraud. The bar was, of course, in Hell for that type of thing.

Jane headed one way down the street, Sabina in the other, and Elena hailed a cab. It was clean and smelled like leather wipes, and the driver smiled nicely enough at her when she climbed into the back. She relaxed into the worn seat, trying to sort through what had just happened… if anything at all.

It was all conjecture, really. Elena had seen, what? A whisper and an arm movement—hardly odd behavior for the more seasoned agents. _Totally normal._ Jane and Sabina were surprisingly affectionate with Elena as well as each other, all the time.

Besides, if it _was_ something more than half-drunk friends being friends… if Sabina’s hand had been shifting to where Elena _thought_ it did… The next logical conclusions were difficult to process even in the privacy of her own mind. She felt like she was stumbling into information she very much did not want to know, because it might threaten the trio’s peace.

Jane had dated Langston for almost a year. They were a cute couple, but the chemist couldn’t handle Jane’s near-constant work schedule, and they’d ended things amicably enough. As far as Elena knew, Sabina hadn’t dated anyone seriously after her doomed engagement, which remained a forbidden topic of discussion.

She gave her head a physical shake as the cab stopped in front of her AirBnB. She was getting way ahead of herself. It’d been far too long since she’d had more than 72 hours off from Angel duties and work; maybe she was getting a little paranoid. Sleep would be a good choice, give her mind the rest it needed to think clearly and _hopefully_ reason out how this was all a big misunderstanding.

The apartment was dark when she went inside, flipping on lights as she moved through the living room, down a short hall, and into the small, single bedroom. A can of Pringles sat unopened next to the bed, and Elena quickly took care of that, munching on three-chip stacks of Sour Cream and Onion as she powered up her laptop.

After an hour of sitting against the headboard and taking care of emails, checking social media, and perusing the news, Elena’s hands stilled on the keyboard. _It couldn’t hurt to check. Then I can just stop thinking about this._

The steps were simple for a hacker of her caliber. The agent connected to her Towsend-issued VPN, which she may or may not have modified, against protocol, to give herself a sort of “Incognito Mode”... meaning the Agency received no data from her online travels. No reason to bring Bosley’s attention to her ludicrous extrapolating. She gained entry to the city’s security systems, scrolling through street camera feeds until she found the dumpling restaurant. Setting aside the now half-empty Pringles cylinder, Elena watched herself say goodbye to her fellow agents before they split up… and then she used the cameras to follow her friends.

She didn’t actually _find_ anything. Sabina walked with her head down, scrolling through her phone, for a couple blocks before casually making a sharp left turn into an alley and melting into the shadows. Sitting up straighter on the bed, Elena huffed to herself as she tabbed between camera feeds, trying to find a better angle. Her friend never reappeared on the other side of the alley, and although civilian experience might suggest that that was a reason to worry… They were spies. Moving unseen could be second nature, an instinctive safety protocol… and certainly her family’s mansions, none of which Sabina could be seen entering from the street, could potentially have hidden tunnels and entrances. Rich people did stuff like that.

So, she moved on to Jane’s route. The tall, slender agent was going in the right direction, hands in her coat pockets as she strolled through the streets. She tossed a coin into the guitar case of a street performer, told off a catcaller, and… two blocks short of her stated hotel, Jane, too, disappeared into the night. It happened so quickly that Elena had to rewind the footage twice: Jane abruptly veered into a metro entrance, traipsed onto a platform, and vanished behind a passing subway car, like a damn Bourne movie. One frame from a security camera across the tracks, however, had caught just the heel of Jane’s boot as she stepped into what looked like a service door at the edge of the frame. Also not an uncommon mode of clandestine travel, with possible connection to the sewer system connecting to Pod Věží. Maybe.

Elena spent a few more futile minutes running facial recognition on city feeds, but she knew before the program reported back: No Match. She closed her laptop and sat back on her bed, checking her private cell phone. Bosley had texted, asking how the trip went, and just reading the title made Elena’s stomach twist. Her gut felt more strongly than ever that there _was_ something being kept from her, between her two friends. It wasn’t a great feeling, but she was willing to give them the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps it was something totally innocent, or something for the greater good. They each had individual missions, long term projects… She could stand to watch quietly, for a while.

 _Same old, same old, just like we like it,_ was what she texted back to Bosley before bringing up Netflix on her iPad.

—

As chaotic as their origin story was, the trio of Angels who’d stopped John Bosley from becoming the world’s most powerful terrorist had become one of the Townsend Agency’s most reliable teams. Their success rates far outshone other agents’, and their collateral damage numbers were much lower. Each individual Angel buffered and supported the others, both in the field and off, making them stable and efficient. Mostly.

Their unofficial team leader, the fearless and often stoic Jane Kano, brought with her both serious military training and a web of shadowy MI6 contacts otherwise outside the reach of the Agency, especially in places where armed contractors (read: mercenaries) were usually the third parties of choice. As tall as she was, Jane was also light on her feet and surprisingly excellent at evading security systems and guards, using her extraordinary strength to scale walls and leap between buildings. She was a star at hand-to-hand combat, with a reach that would cross half a boxing ring. Bosley didn’t worry much about her work, but she wished her Angel had a more fulfilling personal life—that is to say, a personal life at all, since she’d broken up with that Langston boy almost a year ago.

And then there was Sabina Wilson, who was… not like Jane. When she went undercover, usually it was as herself, taking advantage of her family’s massive network of Fellow Rich People™️ to play “six degrees of separation” and get close to high-society targets. Her family’s fortune started with gun manufacturing in the 1940s, and then they’d followed their American Dream to the steps of Washington D.C., constantly landing massive Army contracts for research and development of next-gen weaponry: lasers, micro-drones, satellites, and the American staple of _ever-bigger bombs._ Bosley herself had been skeptical of the heiress at first blush, but Sabina’s breezy air belied a sharp, determined agent who never hesitated when the moment called for action. She found a way, no matter how many plans went awry.

Elena Houghlin, of course, slotted in as the Lisbeth Salander of the group, but that comparison (which Elena herself didn’t _entirely_ appreciate, but Bosley sometimes just couldn’t help herself) landed even more true when it came to her performance outside of hacking. If Elena put her mind to something, then she mastered it: several types of martial arts, emergency medical aid, artillery, archery—the list kept going. Like Sabina, Elena benefitted from a generally flustered demeanor, which when applied in the right way could disarm most men without a single punch. She was the type of pupil who memorized field guides, but she was also still learning the less obvious parts of clandestine work, especially the old-timey spy moves that went unsaid in their line of work: safe houses, personal informants, and most importantly, protective lies.

The flip side of the team’s success, though, was that they were often called up for the Agency’s most dangerous and high priority missions, a conflict which tore at Rebekah’s stomach, but all she could do was ensure she set them up for success every time. That usually meant _a lot_ of time talking strategy, running practice scenarios, and picking the right moment to make their moves.

Which was exactly what they were doing on a foggy morning in Atlanta, Georgia, in the southern region of the United States. The Agency had an office downtown, under the guise of an accounting firm, and they’d gathered in the sleek glass-walled conference room to get their mission from Charlie over breakfast.

“Good morning, Angels,” chirped the familiar voice over a small vintage speaker at one end of the mahogany conference table.

“Good morning, Charlie,” they answered in unison.

“Angels, for your next mission, we’ve been tasked with a dual-track contract,” he continued, carefully enunciating each word. As he spoke, a hologram sprung from the middle of the table to illustrate his words. “The client is Finn DeJager, heir apparent to his family’s investment company, The Praxis Group. They’re in the top tier of the world’s financial players.”

Rebekah tilted her head as the hologram showed them a picture of the client alongside scrolling headlines about TPG’s success. Finn DeJager, 29, had sandy blonde hair and dark blue eyes, his thin nose splashed with ruddy freckles. He was handsome, but baby-faced, with a frankly embarrassing reddish blonde chinstrap beard. The accompanying profile that loaded on her iPad said he was 6’ 4”, a factoid not immediately apparent in his head-and-shoulders company portrait.

“Ruben DeJager, Finn’s father, passed away last week, leaving control of the company to his eldest son. However, our client is concerned that his younger brother, Julian DeJager, will move against him to take control.”

“A classic royal family spat,” Elena chimed in, shaking her head. “Murder and millions.”

“Exactly. Angels, your foremost mission is to keep Mr. DeJager safe, and you’ll be installed as leads in his security detail. Behind the scenes, you’ll be investigating Julian DeJager’s comings and goings. If he’s going to make a move, we want to know about it first, and if there’s a way to curb his ambitions… This dance cannot go on forever.”

“Happier every day to be an only child,” muttered Sabina, slouched so far down in her leather chair that the table was nearly chin-level. She was sitting next to Elena, with Jane and Rebekah across from them, dressed in a raggedy cheetah print coat and black jumper with no shirt underneath. Typical Wilson.

“I’ve sent you all the details. Thank you, Angels.”

“Thank you, Charlie,” they echoed back, and the little red light on the radio went dark.

“TPG is headquartered in Utrecht, central Netherlands,” began Bosley, standing up to pace around the long table. “Jane and Elena, you two will work with the security team using cover identities. Sabina, you’re going to go straight to Julian.”

The blonde’s head tilted, her shoulders emerging as she straightened up in her chair.

“Ruben DeJager was old school, and very Dutch. He publicly refused to invest in the more unsavory industries: oil and coal, precious metals—“

“Weapons,” murmured Sabina with a sigh. “Let me guess: Junior wants a piece of Ferndust.”

“At least it’s not Blackwater,” mused Elena.

“It’s called Academi now,” Jane corrected her, sounding a little distracted. “This is a long term job?”

“Depends on how long it takes for someone to make a move. Hopefully, first and last strike is us.” Bosley studied the tall agent, who was grimacing as she scrolled through the mission parameters on her tablet. “What’s wrong?”

“Finn DeJager has a wife and three children. That protection detail is going to be massive, unless they stay home all day.”

 _Hmm._ Bosley raised an eyebrow. Jane was a realist, to be sure, but she wasn’t typically one to _complain_ about an assignment. “And?”

“Jane’s right,” Elena interrupted, cautiously. This meeting was getting interesting. “We won’t be able to support Sabina if she runs into trouble.”

“I can handle myself,” protested the blonde, who was now sitting up completely straight. She directed her arguments to her fellow Angels: “Having a shadow would risk tipping off Julian. Me, doing research, asking questions on behalf of my parents? Nobody will question that. We’ve run this game plenty of times before.”

Bosley crossed her arms and waited—apparently, her agents needed no input from their CO.

“Why don’t we just haul Julian into a dark room and ask his intentions?” proposed Jane, calmly.

“Yeah, because if he’s actually just a good brother, he’ll totally get over being kidnapped and tortured.” The rebuttal came from Elena that time, which was unsurprising, given her strong aversion to gore. “We should bring in a fourth.”

“No. I said, I’m fine on my own.” Sabina’s lip curled, showing her teeth. “Babysitting someone else is just gonna slow me down.”

She wasn’t wrong. Bosley watched as Jane and Elena unhappily came to the same conclusion. Only a handful of other Angels could keep up with this trio, and most of them were, naturally, deployed in the field for long-term missions, too. The Angels went silent, all with drawn expressions.

“Okay,” sighed the older woman, putting on a smile. “Sounds like we’ve worked that out, I thinm. You leave tomorrow morning.”

There was some cross-chatter as the agents filed out of the conference room, and when they’d disappeared into the armory, Rebekah tapped her fingers on the lacquered table, her eyes glued to the red-brown surface as her mind worked. Something deep in her gut was beginning to unfurl, seeping a sourceless anxiety into her veins—instinct, born from her own storied career with the Townsend Agency. _Something_ was off, somewhere in this arrangement. It could be the subject, it could be the client, her Angels… maybe Charlie. After the betrayal by John Bosley, undetected even by their leader, Rebekah had held her cards back a little more from the chain of command, not in any way that might affect her duties, but in the interest of self-preservation.

But no matter how grumbly her instincts were being, Rebekah had no clear sense of where the danger might be—so she gathered her tablet and left the conference room, too. She would simply have to pay close attention, closer than usual, in the coming weeks… and maybe do some research on her own.

—

“They know.”

“They do not.”

“They _suspect.”_

“You’re being paranoid.”

Jane raised an eyebrow at Sabina, frowning. “Is there another way a private spy is supposed to be?”

They were sitting in a red pickup truck Sabina had rented in cash from a gas station. It smelled like cigarettes and sweat, but it didn’t have GPS, so no one would be able to track them to the dark spot in the woods outside Atlanta, where they’d driven off a two-lane road until the trees became too thick to pass. As a London native, Jane found the rural Deep South to be as foreign as another planet. It was hot, and muggy, and the near-constant scream of insects kept her awake into the night. The trees seemed to sag under the humidity, and the patches of invasive kudzu ivy, wrapped tightly around every trunk and branch, looked like the entryways to a horrible, ancient places. She much preferred cobblestone and lights and cold, even with the smog.

Sabina leaned back in the driver’s seat, shrugging and giving a frustrated sigh. “If you’re so worried about it, why’d you even answer my text?”

The question was quiet, but still accusatory. Jane accepted that. She could have spent the evening meeting up with university friends, like she’d told Elena… but she hadn’t. So she just turned her head, finding Sabina looking back at her with something like hurt in her expression, and sighed back as she replied, “You know why.”

The actual statement didn’t make much sense, logically. Jane knew Sabina would still understand what she was trying to convey. That the blonde had looked _distractingly_ good at the meeting, ridiculous jacket or no… and because, per their own rules, they never did this while in the field, so this would be their last such rendezvous for an indefinite amount of time.

At any rate, arguing certainly hadn’t been why she’d climbed into the questionable old Ford. She leaned across the center console, and Sabina reacted immediately, meeting her lips halfway as her pale hands came up to cradle Jane’s jaw.

 _This_ form of communication was much easier. While Sabina’s hands held her close, Jane’s deftly unbuckled their seatbelts, shrugging free of the vinyl strap, and then slammed the lever to recline the shorter woman’s seat. If it hadn’t been a king cab, Jane might’ve yanked Sabina into the backseat, but there was enough room for her nearly-six-foot frame to clamber over the blonde’s lap, even if the buckles and side handle dug into her knees.

Sabina’s strong fingers wrapped over the corners of her hips, pulling insistently and grinding up between her legs. Jane quickly understood why, breaking the kiss when something firm pressed against her inner thigh. The sensation sent a jolt of pleasure up her spine, and she raised an eyebrow at the blonde, whose gray eyes were nearly overtaken by the black of her pupils.

“Oh, you think so?” teased Jane, even as she gave her hips a languid roll that made Sabina’s eyelashes flutter.

“Was I wrong?” was all the blonde choked out in response before breaking off into a low whimper.

The soft clinking of Sabina’s belt seemed like a Pavlovian trigger to Jane these days; each tiny note built pressure between her legs, and the hiss of fabric against leather as she pulled the strap free had her breath catching in her throat. She wouldn’t give Sabina the victory of a verbal response, but she wasted no time, lifting herself slightly, just enough to unzip the slim black slacks Sabina had changed into and shove her hand inside the waistband of the blonde’s underwear. The shaft wasn’t hard to find, thick and smooth and warm from Sabina’s body, and Jane gave it a testing tug, fingertips tracing the o-ring and buckles at the base. Even that small touch made Sabina arch, her pale pink lips parting on another strained whine.

After considering the struggle it’d be to take off her panties, Jane decided against it, instead holding the toy in one hand and pulling her underwear aside, a movement that made Sabina’s hazy eyes snap to attention, watching as Jane nestled the cock between her legs, rolling her hips to coat its not insignificant length in a shining layer of slick arousal. Truthfully, she’d been agitated and wet since before the meeting, purely in anticipation of their night. Add to that, the mental visual of Sabina renting the truck with _that_ pressed against her thigh, probably just _daring_ the attendant to say something… Jane bit the blonde’s bottom lip hard, grinning at Sabina’s responding moan into her collarbone.

It was already too hot in the small space, and they were both still mostly clothed, so once she was satisfied with her work, Jane hastily lined up the sticky, broad head of the toy and sank down, taking the first few inches in one choppy thrust. The slide of the silicone against her inner walls, the slight burning stretch—the tall agent collapsed the rest of the way into Sabina’s lap, not fighting the sharp whimper the sudden pressure ripped from her throat.

While Jane caught her breath, Sabina seemed to come back to herself. Her fingers tightened on the taller agent’s waist and pulled while her hips ground up, rubbing the ridged base against Jane’s clit for a few dizzying seconds—and then she started moving in earnest, her iron grip easily lifting Jane halfway up the cock before dragging her back down, pushing her hips up to meet each thrust. Before long, the pace was hard and fast and _deep,_ and Jane let her eyes flutter closed, nearly going limp as Sabina drove her relentlessly towards the edge, rocking the truck in time with her forceful fucking.

“You’re gonna miss this,” the blonde panted against her chest, barely audible over the wet slapping noises filling the cabin.

A part of Jane’s brain, the contrary, loner part, wanted to hiss at Sabina to just shut up and make her come… but she couldn’t bring the biting response to her lips, which were instead betraying her with a piteous whine. The crush of their bodies in the absurdly small space, the familiar smell of Sabina’s hair products mixing with heady sweat and sex—it was all muddying her thoughts, even without adding the unbearable pressure building between her legs while Sabina pounded away, stealing her breath each time the cock bottomed out.

“You’re gonna dream about how hard I make you come.” Sabina’s voice was a growl, and the coarse sound rose goosebumps across Jane’s sweat-slick skin. “You’re gonna miss me. Say it.”

“‘Bina…” she gasped, feeling a little out of control, and unsure whether she liked this—Sabina being mouthy was no news headline, but the dark, demanding undertone _was_ new. Jane typically took particular care to maintain a semblance of control during these encounters; the vague sense of some kind of upper hand helped her set aside the churning, out-of-control mess of feeling and _want_ that Sabina kept drawing out of her, consciously or not.

Right at that moment, it was _abundantly_ clear that Sabina was goading her, and not out of playfulness. When she opened her eyes, the blonde gazed back up at her with a devastating expression, filled with an inner storm that mirrored Jane’s. The intensity of the moment seared across her bones, and her body charged ahead, spilling fluid around the base of the toy and clenching along the firm length each time Sabina lifted her up. And all the while, Sabina kept demanding through clenched teeth: _Say it. Say it._

She wanted to. The next mission wouldn’t even be the first time they’d been apart for weeks on end, since they first started… this. Except tonight was the first time either of them acknowledged the looming absence. And of course Sabina would do it in this moment, while coherent thought seemed just out of reach, kept at bay by the orgasm bubbling up from her core…

When it seemed her refusal finally lasted too long, she found out what lay behind the demand: Sabina’s hips stuttered to a stop, the toy halfway buried, and her hands gripped to hold Jane in place, stopping her from rocking down again.

It wasn’t fair. Jane gritted her teeth, torn between cussing the blonde and walking back to town, or getting what she _wanted._ More desperately than she’d admit out loud, even with slick arousal dripping down towards Sabina’s lap and her inner muscles clenching in protest of the sudden stillness. But what really swayed her decision was that look, still in Sabina’s eyes when she opened hers.

Jane dropped her head to press her cheek against the blonde’s, too overstimulated for the pleadjng slate stare, but she still murmured, “I’ll miss you.” Sabina loosened her grip, letting her slide back down to the base. The abrupt fullness after the long pause added a stinging edge to the pleasure, and Jane was too relieved to care about the gasping moan escaping her throat. When Sabina didn’t move further, Jane was too determined to put up more resistance. “I’ll miss you, Sabina. I’ll miss this— _fuck—_ miss the way you make me feel.”

That did the trick. Sabina grunted against her chest and her hips took off again, slamming up in deep, long strokes, grinding the base against Jane’s clit every time their bodies met. Jane grasped the blonde’s chin and crushed their mouths together in a kiss, teeth bumping in the near-frantic energy between them.

There was no going back now. It felt good to give in for once, or at least it did while she was racing towards climax, all the frustration and annoyance from before driven out of her chest to make room for the pleasure filling her belly and rising along her spine. There was barely room for air with Sabina’s tongue gliding against hers, and she broke away only to give in some more, to feel that feeling again before this ended.

 _“God,_ you fuck me better than anyone has even _tried.”_

Sabina growled against her skin and shifted, folding her arms around Jane’s waste for a better hold as her hips churned. The slight change in angle had the head of the toy slamming into her front wall.

 _“Right_ there, don’t you fucking sto—“ The vowel broke off into a wail on the next teeth-rattling thrust, and she was coming hard around Sabina’s cock, her nails digging into the blonde’s shoulders. She nearly choked when deft fingers slid between their slippery lower bodies to push firmly against her throbbing clit, the sensation almost too intense, but drawing out her orgasm until she collapsed against the blonde’s sweat-slick chest. Sabina was panting hard, her sharp chin resting on Jane’s shoulder, and her arms moved from her waist to her ribcage, loosening into a softer embrace.

For whatever reason, whatever Good Decision neuron wasn’t firing tonight, Jane didn’t immediately climb back into her seat, like she usually would. She let her fingers wander through brunette roots, scratching lightly down the short, buzzed hair at the base of Sabina’s head. The blonde sighed and leaned into the touch, all the urgent anger gone from her energy.

She _would_ miss Sabina, as a friend and… as this. But perhaps the space would be good for them, because the well-adjusted, generally rule-abiding part of herself was shouting and being drowned out by syrupy warmth in her chest—and that could _not_ happen again.

“Jane?”

The small, unsure sound came from somewhere around her collarbone. Jane leaned back, catching Sabina’s eye and raising an eyebrow.

“I’m… gonna miss you, too.”

Jane drew her hand around to Sabina’s jaw, tracing the curve under her ear as she felt the precious seconds of leniency she’d given herself run out. “I know.”

Sabina gave a weak grin, but she seemed to understand. The thick air in the truck seemed to cool. “Who are you, Han Solo?”

“I’m too pretty for Star Wars,” Jane joked right back, and the spell was broken. She slowly rose off the toy, wincing as the warmth of Sabina’s body pulled away. Her ass only accidentally honked the horn once as she moved back to her seat, making them both jump, and as she buckled the seatbelt, Jane caught sight of the shining mess on Sabina’s lap. “Shit, ‘Bina—“

“I’ve got a pair of sweats in the back.” After tucking the cock back into her pants, the blonde turned the engine on, shifting the truck out of Park. “I’ll change before anyone sees me.”

That last bit felt like a dig, but Jane was utterly spent, physically and mentally, and she just rested against the headrest and closed her eyes for the quiet drive home.

Not Jane’s finest night, to be sure. She just needed to keep it together until they left for the mission.

**Author's Note:**

> yell at me on tumblr [@trashyeggroll](https://trashyeggroll.tumblr.com)


End file.
